


Searchlights

by evil_diabolical_oops



Series: the secret of change [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Canon, also starring wymack's couch, background kevin/thea, follows the events of son nefes 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-22 09:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13761192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_diabolical_oops/pseuds/evil_diabolical_oops
Summary: Kevin Day joins the Foxes. It isn't easy, but nothing in his life is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of abuse and torture in the fic.
> 
> I tried to keep this as canon-compliant as possible with quite a bit of embellishing to flesh out Kevin's story.
> 
> A special thanks to exyhell for the beta and for spending months listening to me go on and on about Kevin Day.

In the late-night stillness of Wymack’s apartment, Kevin caught his breath and closed his eyes. One shaky exhale followed, then two. When he reopened his eyes, the cast on his hand was still there, the white padding illuminated green by the glow of the clock on the cable box.

_You’re never going to play again, you know._

They were Jean’s words, a truth Kevin refused to believe, but he wouldn’t call that refusal hope. He didn’t have the strength for that, not when reverberations of the last time he’d lost everything had surfaced and rattled through him.

It seemed inevitable that history would repeat itself, and he would once again end up back at Evermore despite Wymack’s best intentions. Kevin couldn’t have asked for more, standing in front of Wymack’s hotel room door, a beggar with nothing and tomorrow stolen from him, while Wymack pulled him in and accepted his situation with so few questions asked. Like many other times in his life, his mother’s name had paved the way for him. It was an undeserved welcome to a place he didn’t fit in, truly, because Wymack’s couch was too short for him.

The soft blanket smelled like cigarettes, so he hadn’t pulled it much above his chest. The rest of the blanket twined awkwardly around his legs. The hard cushions made it difficult to find a comfortable position, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to sleep until he was too exhausted to know the couch was a rock anyway.

That left him with too much time to contemplate the white noise of the heater and underneath its lulling whir, a faint scratching. It had better not be a mouse. If it were, he’d be screaming so loud that the Moriyamas would find him.

He hated that he was so sensitive, that he’d grown attuned to Riko’s every noise, every move, every mood, but there was no Riko to blame the noise on, no bed opposite his, no shelf lined with history books, no postcards and photographs of them at all the places they had visited. Nothing familiar and far too much space.

Just as quickly as it started, the scratching stopped. Kevin gripped the blanket and tugged the edge up off the floor. A mouse couldn’t climb the side of the couch. At least, he didn’t think. Maybe it could. But there had to be easier places—

Something clicked and the door to Wymack’s apartment creaked open.

_Oh, shit._

Never mind, he’d take the mouse.

He scrambled off the couch and barely avoided tripping over the blanket. He grabbed the remote control sitting on the end table for lack of a better weapon.

Light from the outside hall brightened the apartment. The design of the entranceway blocked direct sight of the intruder, but a shadow stretched along the front of the living room before the door closed sending everything back into darkness.

Abandoning his spot on the couch had been a mistake. It put him out in the open—the remote raised in his hand, as if he could do anything with it, ambidextrous or not. On the court, he had ice in his veins, but here, he was frozen in place. No fight or flight for him. He’d seen the consequences of fighting, and running had never been an option before.

They probably wouldn’t kill him.

Probably.

That did little to calm his breathing.

The clock on the cable box changed to 3:44.

As far as Kevin could tell, the person hadn’t left the entrance. A part of him wanted to get this over with, do whatever he could to keep Wymack out of it.

But Riko would expect words from him that he wasn’t ready to give, and he couldn’t lie to Riko.

He needed more time; he’d already been given more than he deserved.

He would have to find some truth to cross the divide between them.

3:45.

A footstep.

An eternity of silence.

And then another.

A dark figure stood in front of the opening to the living room.

Andrew Minyard was recognizable enough, black armbands included. He looked at the remote in Kevin’s hand, and then at Kevin directly with no expression on his face. Sober, then, or mostly so, and Kevin didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“It’s just you.” Kevin chucked the remote at him. It bounced off Andrew’s chest and dropped to the carpet. Kevin collapsed on the couch. He covered his face with his hand and tried to stop the laughter of giddy relief.

“Not the rescue party you were hoping for.” The floor creaked as Andrew shifted closer. “Don’t mourn for long.”

Kevin peeked at him through the fingers of his good hand. “You aren’t here to help. What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

He removed his hand from his face and gave a pointed gesture toward the entranceway. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

“Strange? I don’t want to hear about strange from you. Most people go to the hospital when they break a hand.”

“Stay out of it.”

“You brought it here. A little light on luggage, but I’m sure the baggage is coming.” Andrew took a step toward the couch. “Who did you think was breaking in through that door?”

“Not you, obviously.”

“He finally figured it out, didn’t he? He was never going to be the best as long as you could play.”

The hall light flicked on. They both flinched.

Wymack stood at the entrance to the living room. “Andrew Joseph Minyard, I don’t remember inviting you over for a sleepover.”

“Shhhhhh, you’re interrupting, Coach. Kevin was about to tell me the end of his scary story.”

“Get out.”

Andrew bent down and cupped his mouth to conspire in a voice that was anything but a whisper. “What did you do when the evil raven chased after you?”

“Andrew. Out. Now.”

Andrew put his hands up and backed away. “I’m going, I’m going.”

He turned and headed for the door. After it clicked shut, Wymack moved to lock it again.

“Sorry we woke you,” Kevin said when Wymack returned to the room.

“You didn’t,” Wymack said. “My alarm did.”

It was barely four in the morning, an uncivilized hour to be awake. Kevin definitely hadn’t inherited any morning-person genes from Wymack. Or inherited his father’s dark skin. Genetics were a strange thing.

“You want breakfast?” Wymack asked.

“Yes.”

He didn’t, but he didn’t know how to ask for what he really wanted. It was the typical stupid and selfish request he was known for. He wanted the noise of Wymack digging through the refrigerator, the clack of the pan against the stove’s burner, and the crack of eggs against the edge of the counter. He wanted to watch Wymack’s shadow ghosting across the walls of the living room as he moved about the kitchen. He wanted to burrow against the warmth of the couch and feel safe.

He tugged the blanket tighter around him and closed his eyes, feeling the pull of sleep and possibility of dreams.

He wanted to stay.

* * *

The next time Andrew broke into Wymack’s apartment, it was mid-afternoon the following day, and Thea Muldani had just sent her striker mark to a glorious sprawl on the television. The ball bounced once into her racquet, and she made a fierce pass to her waiting striker.

The sportscasters began rehashing the old story of her being inducted to the U.S. Court.

 _Court_.

He hadn't realized how close he’d been to following his dream until he’d fallen an impossible distance away from it—and Thea. Court had been his best excuse to see her again. They may have paused their relationship until after he graduated, but her presence grounded him in a way he needed. All of his squirreled away pieces came together and for a little bit, he didn’t feel like such a boy on a string.

The announcer droned on about how rare it was for someone to turn down an invitation in the first place, let alone be given a second chance. In Kevin’s not-so-humble opinion, she was the best backliner in the game. She had been destined to make Court, and she had done it on her own terms. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

The camera panned away following the action. Kevin sighed and leaned back.

Andrew stood at the entrance to Wymack’s living room. “Do you ever leave that couch?”

After a quick glance, Kevin ignored him and returned his attention to the game.

So of course Andrew moved to stand in front of the television.

Perhaps the smarter move—and definitely the Riko move—would have been to go straight for the remote and turn it off, but Riko held dibs on Kevin’s undivided attention. Andrew didn’t. In the background, one of Rockets was red carded, but Kevin couldn’t tell which one with Andrew in the way.

His crazed, manic smile aside, Andrew wasn’t as gleefully sadistic as Riko either. Kevin huffed his exasperation. “If only you worked as hard to block the goal.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Not when no one else on your team pulls their weight. But I’ve scrimmaged against you and seen you play. Your first game against Breckenridge, you blocked that penalty shot like it was nothing. And I know how good your aim is. You meant to knock that Jackal’s helmet. Before you entered the game, your team was bleeding points. After, the Jackals barely scored. The following game, you played better than most pros. Then it’s all hit and miss.”

“Stalker.”

“I pay attention to talent. You have so much of it, but you’re too afraid to use it. You could make Court. You have the potential to be the greatest goalkeeper in the game. But. You. Won’t. Even. Try.”

“Try. Try, you say.” His grin broadened. “And look where that got you. Still think I should have joined the Ravens?”

“No.” Riko had offered, had seemed to think there was a way to blackmail Andrew onto the team even after his refusal, but it would have been up to Kevin to train his new pet. Kevin had almost no moral ground to stand on during the best of days, but that was a piece of his soul he hadn’t been willing to sell for exy. “No, but I wanted to play exy with you.”

“I hate you.”

“Then _leave_.”

“Not until I get my answers.”

Kevin waved him away, ignoring the sharp spike of pain in his hand. “I’m not saying anything until this game is over.”

Andrew looked at the screen and back. For several weeks last year, Kevin had considered himself an Andrew Minyard expert. Ten seconds face-to-face with Andrew had proven how worthless most of it had been, and now, because he never did what Kevin expected, Andrew flopped down on the other side of the couch.

Only three minutes remained in the second half, and the Houston Sirens were up by eleven points.

“If you get any closer to the edge of your seat,” Andrew said, “you're going to fall off.”

Kevin turned the volume up on the television.

Thea knocked the opposing striker’s racquet as they went to score, and the ball flew wide of the goal. That was the last he saw of her as the two teams jostled each other until the game clock wound down to zero.

Andrew hummed. “Something about that was interesting, but it certainly wasn’t the score.”

Kevin hit the mute button on the remote. “I told you, I pay attention to talent.”

“Talent?” Andrew laughed. “Or her thighs, I wonder?”

Kevin hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious about it, but Andrew was incredibly perceptive. Thea was Kevin’s most closely guarded secret, the one thing he’d managed to keep from Riko. She was the truest thing in his life and his biggest lie. He knew better than anyone what the stakes were. He had only to look at what had happened with Jean. “Are those the answers you were wanting?”

“I prefer answers that aren’t questions.”

“Then ask questions I’ll answer.”

Andrew cocked his head. Kevin braced himself for another question about Thea, but Andrew went straight for the bullseye. “How far is Riko willing to go to get you back?”

Kevin fiddled with the padding of his cast. “I’d return if they asked.”

“Return and watch Riko play at the top from the sidelines?”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“And I don’t care.”

Andrew saw his presence as a threat, and as long as he did, there was one guaranteed way to take care of it. Kevin debated the risk of planting the idea—assuming Andrew hadn’t already thought of it on his own—but knew firsthand that Andrew had an appreciation for brutal honesty. “Will you tell him where I am?”

“Will you ask me nicely not to?”

Something dark twisted in Kevin. _That_ was too close to Riko. Kevin debated being difficult, but he had nothing to gain and far more to lose, which was typical.

“Yes,” he said. “Please—“

“Don’t say that word.”

“Please?”

“I just told you not to say it.”

“Fine,” Kevin snapped and then tried to rein in his temper, reminding himself that Andrew couldn’t help but be annoying with the drugs in his system. It was also worth remembering why he’d been put on them in the first place. Andrew took protection to extremes, and Kevin did not want to be the target of that. “I’d deeply appreciate it if you didn’t tell Riko or the master where I am.”

“The master?”

Kevin squirmed on the couch. That had been a mistake. “Coach Moriyama.”

Andrew started laughing.

“Is that all you wanted to know?”

“That’s more than I wanted to know.” Andrew laughed harder. It took him a minute, but he finally calmed back down. “Why did you come here?”

“Coach Wymack knew my mother. They were close once upon a time ago, so I thought he might help. Plus, he has a reputation for taking in troubled strays.” Kevin looked down at his cast. “I was desperate. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“So you came here because Coach isn’t in Moriyama’s pocket.”

Kevin shrugged. Even ignoring the fact that the sport wouldn’t exist without the master, a lot of people owed their careers to him. If Andrew wanted to believe Kevin was here because Wymack didn’t, then Kevin was willing to let him run with that.

Andrew stood. At first, Kevin thought he’d finally gotten bored of his questioning, but then he heard Wymack’s footsteps coming down the hallway.

Andrew grinned as Wymack stood at the entrance to the living room. “Andrew? Out? Now?”

“Nicky is waiting in the car for you. Apparently, you’re going to be late meeting Erik at the airport.”

“Late,” Andrew scoffed. “He found me faster than I expected.”

“I called him when I heard your voice to make sure you weren't stupid enough to drive here on your own,” Wymack said.

“That’s cheating, Coach,” Andrew replied.

“Say that to me when you aren’t breaking and entering.”

“Nothing’s broken. Your fugitive was cooperative. My questions are answered, for now.”

“Andrew,” Wymack called after him as Andrew headed for the door. “Keep quiet this break.”

“What do I get?”

“Me asking.”

“I like bribes more.”

“How about I don’t kick your sorry ass off this team,” Wymack said.

Andrew laughed. “If that’s all you have to offer, you should have left your injured birdy where you found it.”

And then he was out the door.

Wymack looked over at Kevin as if to assess damage, and after finding none, headed back to his study.

Kevin turned the volume back up on the television. The talking heads on one of the general sports programs were discussing the upcoming NCAA Exy Championship.

“This might finally be USC’s year,” one of them said.

“Jeremy Knox has done an amazing job as captain, but they don’t stand a chance against the Sons of Exy at Edgar Allen. I think we have a few more years before we see another school at the top.”

“We are watching history with them,” the third agreed. “Definitely the greatest striker duo I’ve ever seen.”

Kevin flipped the television off.

_You’re never going to play again, you know._

He stared up at the plain white ceiling and tried to find it more interesting than deciphering the silence out of Evermore.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, and a few meltdowns. Please let me know if you'd like me to warn specifically for anything else. I'm not going out of my way to cover warnings that typically fall under canon, but I don't mind doing so.
> 
> I'm intentionally not warning for an eating disorder. Kevin not eating is a short-term thing and a result of stress/depression. I'm trying to juggle too many of his issues to feel like I could layer in an eating disorder and do it justice. I'll let someone with more knowledge than me handle that.
> 
> Also includes gratuitous mentions of weather and barbecue.
> 
> Special thanks to exyhell for the beta.

Kevin groaned, buried his face into his pillow, and burrowed deeper into his blankets away from the light. Much better, if a bit suffocating. All he wanted was to sleep a little longer. Was that too much to ask?

They must be at a hotel. Baltimore, maybe. The Nest was never this bright.

Knowing Riko, he’d left the curtain cracked on purpose. That bastard always enjoyed watching him squirm. He was probably sipping on his tea while reading the morning exy news and waiting to say something smug and unsympathetic like they had to be up early anyway for practice. 

 _Fuck_.

Practice—he’d only ever been late once. The same mistakes never happened twice after a meeting with the master’s cane. Riko knew that, knew this would affect him too, so why had he let Kevin sleep? They were supposed to be partners in this. Kevin threw the blanket off and sat up, but his left hand was caught in something. He tried to shake it free and almost screamed in pain.

The cast.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He cradled his hand against his stomach, shirt sticking to his skin while he rocked back and forth. The initial adrenaline spike passed, as it had each morning for the past week, and the familiar dread settled in low, heavier.

Waking up was _the worst_.

He reached over and pulled the string to open the blinds. Gray clouds stretched, struggling in their crawl toward the horizon. The parking lot of the run-down shopping center across the way sat dry and empty. A clearance sign banged once, twice, against a dark store front, but then the wind held its breath and the world went silent. The traffic light at the entrance changed. No one came; no one went.

Today was Christmas, although one couldn’t tell from looking at Wymack’s apartment, not that Kevin had any reason to complain about the lack of decorations. They were going to Abby’s later—something he was looking forward to because the walls here were growing closer together every day and Wymack a mile away—but he didn’t know what to expect. His knowledge of Christmas celebrations mostly came from movies. Christmas didn’t exist at the Nest.

He was still watching the clouds a short time later when Wymack entered the living room and took him off guard by awkwardly shoving a wrapped box with smiling snowmen at him. He must have stared for too long at it on his lap because Wymack felt the need to say, “It’s a present, idiot. You open it.”

“Uh, thanks.” Kevin fumbled with the wrapping paper even though someone had taken care to make it easy by not using too much tape. His fingernails needed trimming, but that helped him a little here. He finally discarded the snowmen and began tackling the plain white clothing box. Opening the top was tricky one-handed. 

Wymack watched his clumsy attempts and leaned closer. “Should have gotten a gift bag.”

“I’ve got it.” But it took him three more tries before he slipped the lid off.

Inside was a pair of dress pants and a polo shirt resting on some tissue paper. 

“They should fit but let me know if they don’t,” Wymack said.

“Thank you.”

“It was Abby’s idea. She thought you’d want something besides a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants to wear for dinner.”

Kevin ran his fingers over the dark blue shirt. “She was right.”

“We’ll head over around three.” Wymack reached down and grabbed the wrapping paper, balling it up in his hands. He turned to leave.

Kevin opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t get any words out before Wymack was down the hall again. He sighed and looked at the shirt. Blue. Not black or red. But not a bad color on him. 

He stood and headed for the bathroom. The sooner he was cleaned up and ready the better. Everything took ten times longer one-handed. Most days he didn’t bother with much. It was a constant set of battles: clothes off, clothes on. Washing his hair was more disastrous than Cannae. He’d spent most of his life drilling and perfecting his aim, and yet, somehow, he was defeated trying to put toothpaste on his toothbrush. 

His wet hair fell every which way, a hopeless mop of a mess, in his reflection. Even on a good day when he could take his time to style it, Riko would eye him critically and tell him how useless he was before fixing it for him. 

The mirror didn’t show the full length of his body, but he thought he looked thinner. He definitely needed to shave. Nothing he could do about that, though. The tattoo on his face was there to remind him who he was, who he belonged to, and where he was supposed to be, but there was nothing he could do about that, either.

He came out of the bathroom to find Wymack had made them breakfast. They sat next to each other at the counter, a familiar routine. Wymack had a half-read newspaper open next to him. He tried once to talk pro exy, but Kevin just shrugged and continued pushing scrambled eggs around. His fork scraped unpleasantly against the bottom of the plate. He let the fork go and it clattered down next to his toast. The bacon smelled good, so he ate that. Wymack glanced at him a couple of times but didn’t say anything else. He eventually took Kevin’s half-eaten plate of food to the sink. 

Kevin left Wymack to it and went to fight with the toothpaste again.

It only ended well if one cared about results.

His teeth were clean.

The clouds continued to roll around outside as he settled back on the living room couch, and he wondered when the storm was going to hit. He turned on the television and skipped through the weather, the news, before settling on an orchestra playing in the background. 

He picked up the travel guide—a mundanely named “Travel Guide Ireland”—that he’d discovered in Wymack’s study. Flipping picture to picture, none of it had stuck in his memories. Nothing in Dublin reminded him of the brick building loft they had once lived in. The quaint villages and castles were familiar only through reputation— _this is what everyone imagines Ireland looks like_. The ruins settled in lush green scenery would have fallen the same way, but they triggered something else inside of him. 

The entire world knew Kayleigh Day had been passionately Irish. It had bled through in her interviews, and she had shared it with him, her warm body sitting next to him on his small bed at night, telling and retelling old Irish folklore, mixing history in here and there. He’d hung on every word but couldn’t recall a single one now. He would have lost the sound of her voice too if it hadn’t been for the interviews, but he remembered the feeling of listening to her. There had been a time when he’d been so _happy_ to be Irish.

It hadn’t survived the Nest—not against Riko’s constant taunting of his accent and the master’s cane that demanded Japanese. The last time he’d thought of his heritage he’d been crouching down next to a miserable, homesick Jean Moreau.

_Will you teach me French?_

Jean had looked at him, gray eyes cold with suspicion. 

_What does it have to do with exy?_

Because even back then everyone knew the only thing Kevin Day cared about was exy.

_I want to learn._

More suspicion.

But Kevin hadn’t given up. He’d bumped Jean’s shoulder. _Oui?_

Kevin shut the travel guide and flung it across the room. It knocked against the wall and fell open on the floor bending one of the pages. He curled in on himself, arm hugging his knees to him tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, but no tears came. 

_You should have kept your distrust, Jean._

***

Wymack collected him from the couch a few hours later. He picked up the travel guide off the floor and set it on a stack of papers sitting on the end table. “We don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I want to.” It was just dinner. It wasn’t like anything bad was going to happen, although Kevin worried about how pathetic he must look. 

Wymack hesitated, but then he gathered his things, including a gift bag of what looked like wine. They drove to Abby’s in silence.

She greeted them at the door, going so far as to push Wymack out of the way so that she could give Kevin a hug. It wasn’t the quick, polite greeting-kind, either. She wrapped her arms around him and _held_. He paused for only a moment before returning it, his cast resting awkwardly against her back, but even though he remembered little of that night on the bus, she’d been the one to put his hand back together before Wymack had taken him to see the orthopedic hand surgeon. He was grateful for that.

Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed at the smell of vanilla and homemade bread. He liked it, very domestic. He thought of telling Thea that—her answering something like _bake your own damn bread, you’ll do better at it than flirting_ —and fuck, he missed her.

“Reggie and Juan are out for a run,” Abby said as she released him. “I told them they could either help or get out of the way. They should be back soon. Bee should be here shortly too. Let me take your jacket.”

He could have removed it on his own, but Abby helped him out of the overly large fleece anyway. She was hanging it up when a timer in the kitchen went off. Wymack headed to investigate.

“Make yourself at home,” she said and then hurried after Wymack into the kitchen. “David, get out of that. It’s not for you.”

“I’m only trying one.”

Kevin slipped off his shoes. An exy game played in the other room. He ignored it and examined Abby’s wall of photographs. They made him miss his—although Abby’s were nothing alike. Hers were filled with people—friends, family—a different set in each picture. It was overwhelming. They stood in front of the most popular vacation destinations. Disney. Niagara Falls. The Grand Canyon—a place he’d always wanted to visit, but never had the opportunity. Arizona lacked a professional team, and the University of Arizona didn’t do well enough to matter. Ravens didn’t go out of their way to vacation for fun.

Ravens didn’t smile, either, not without something cruel or dark in it. _Or fake_ , a little voice inside him whispered. Everyone in Abby’s pictures smiled. They all looked so incredibly happy. An entire bridal party gathered, young and carefree, on a beach. He tried to imagine Riko, Jean, and himself in a photo like that, and it was just absurd, a gross parody of friendship. 

Which Riko would absolutely _love_.

The only picture that stood out from the rest was a group shot of the Foxes. They clearly wore their troubles underneath their smiles. Kevin assumed they were the original Foxes; he didn’t recognize any of them. They were a ragtag group that appeared more like an intramural team than the official collegiate team they were. Riko would have looked at them with nothing but scorn. Kevin would have felt the same way too, once. He’d been a junior in high school when Wymack had started the team, a senior when he’d found his mother’s letter. He didn’t know how much that letter had saved him. The Foxes play was deplorable, but studying his father had forced Kevin to rethink some things. Maybe the league could use more teams like the Foxes and the Trojans—preferably the Trojans, because he wanted competition—but he’d grudgingly admit that there was more than one way to be successful. 

The letter was back at the Nest with the rest of his things. He doubted he’d ever see it or his photographs and postcards again. Riko had probably already shredded them in rage, but Kevin couldn’t change that.

Abby was at the sink fiddling with something when he reached the kitchen. Wymack was nowhere in sight.

“Open this,” she said, reaching back with a glass jar that contained pickled okra. 

He stared at it not sure what to do.

Her hand started to let go, and he fumbled to grab it with his right hand before it dropped to the floor. 

She seemed to sense something was wrong and spun around. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I thought you were David.” She snatched the jar from him and patted his arm. “Let’s get you settled, hun. What would you like to drink?”

“Water.”

She grabbed a glass out of one of the cupboards and filled it with a pitcher from the fridge. 

“I don’t know how you’ve kept yourself entertained at David’s place. He has nothing there, but he did say you like history.” She handed him the water. “I have a shelf of books in the den, if you want to borrow any.” 

Wymack must have been paying closer attention to his documentary watching than Kevin had thought. He certainly hadn’t mentioned his interest. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Movies too, if you want to take a look.”

Abby went back to fussing with dinner preparations, and although Kevin wanted to stay and hover in the kitchen with her rather than sit in the den alone, he also didn’t want to be handed any more jars. He considered searching for Wymack, making another attempt at fumbling through conversation, but Wymack was probably outside smoking. That was one place Kevin wouldn’t follow, which might be the reason Wymack was out there. 

So Kevin remained inside, and that was fine. He liked Abby’s house. It was so different from what he was used to. The Nest was, well, the Nest. Wymack’s apartment was a dumping ground. Stacks of folders littered most of the space. Half-filled ash trays scattered all over. Piles of dishes. It felt like a place to crash, temporary. 

Abby’s house was a place to _live_. 

In the corner of the den, a Christmas tree stood wrapped in white lights, delicate ornaments hanging on every branch.  It gave the room a warm, inviting glow. 

A game played on the television, but it was a part of some Christmas Day replay marathon. He had already seen it months ago. The striker for the Outlaws aimed for the goal and missed thanks to shoddy footwork, which annoyed Kevin. He set down the glass of water on a snowflake coaster and turned to Abby’s books. 

There were two shelves of romance novels before the promised history books. A snowman figurine sat in front of a few of them. He picked it up to move it and noticed it had a switch on the bottom. With some careful maneuvering wedging it between his cast and his body, he flipped it on. The snowman glowed a light blue. He grabbed it, and it changed to green. He set it on the shelf, tapped his finger against it, and it turned to pink. He kept touching it to change color—orange, yellow, white—until it finally returned to blue. He cycled through the colors again, deciding he liked white best, and was amused because it would come as a surprise to no one that he was a snobby snowman purist. 

The history books were mostly of the coffee table variety, nothing of depth. He pulled out books, compared, and put back until he finally settled on _What If? Eminent Historians Imagine What Might Have Been._

A burst of cheering came from the television. The Outlaws striker’s shot had been blocked. The goalkeeper knocked it up the court, but the Outlaws defense wasn’t bad. They recovered it, and a few plays later, the striker completely missed the goal on an open shot. An open shot. It was ridiculous. A striker who couldn’t score was useless. It shouldn’t matter how big the name was on the back of his jersey or how many zeros were in his paycheck. The coach needed to pull him if they wanted any chance to win. They had to consider the bigger picture. Kevin started searching for the remote to turn it off—because he knew how this ended—when he realized he wasn’t alone.

He was used to being watched, so much so, that it was jarring to look and not see Riko. The woman was familiar, if a little older and a bit rounder. He said, “I recognize you.”

She gave a pleasant laugh. “I imagine that line usually goes the other way around.” 

“You’re in one of Abby’s photos.” He smiled at her. “Dr. Dobson?”

“You can call me Bee or Betsy.”

“I’m Kevin.” Which was obvious, and the type of thing Riko would mock him for saying.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She gestured at the television where the Outlaws were falling even further behind. “You seemed very focused.”

“It’s nothing,” Kevin said. “Do you follow the pros?”

“No, exy is an acquired taste for me. I didn’t watch the sport at all until I took the job at PSU.”

The front door banged open and closed. Two guys came stumbling in, out of breath. One of them called out, “Hey, Bee!”

“Merry Christmas, Juan,” Betsy said. “You too, Reggie.”

And then they saw him. “Oh, hey.”

Kevin nodded an acknowledgement to them. 

“Get cleaned up,” Abby called from the kitchen. “Dinner is almost ready.”

They stumbled on down the hallway and started laughing at something Wymack said. Kevin ignored the sting in his chest at the noise.

“I’d better go help Abby,” Betsy said. 

He was saved from having to search for the remote since the Outlaws game was ending. It wasn’t long before Abby called them for dinner. 

She insisted on filling a plate of food for him and cutting his ham into bite-size pieces despite his protests that he could handle it on his own. He sat back and let her do it when she couldn’t be deterred because any more fussing on his part was going to just draw attention to it. 

Juan sat across from him and took a deep interest in what parties Kevin had attended, what celebrities he’d met—

“And the girls, man,” Reggie said, interrupting. “I bet they hot and willing—”

“That is not appropriate dinner conversation,” Abby said from her end of the table where Kevin wished he was sitting. 

“Has David brought you Smokin’ Joe’s BBQ?” Betsy asked beside him. 

Kevin pushed the mashed sweet potatoes around, making and remaking craters in the center of them. Abby had given him way too much food. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong with you, Coach?” Juan asked. 

“Kit’s Q is better,” Wymack responded.

Abby gave an absolutely horrified gasp. “That’s blasphemy.” 

It was too bad Abby didn’t have a dog he could sneak food under the table to. He was actually going to have to eat most of it. 

“Coach has a point about Kit’s,” Juan conceded. “Their macaroni and cheese is the best.”

“That’s a side,” Reggie said. “You don’t go for a side. You go for the meat.”

How could they even be talking about this with so much food in front of them?

Juan looked to Kevin. “Do you even like barbecue?” 

“Who doesn’t like barbecue!” Reggie said, voice rising an octave on each word.

“I don’t know,” Juan said, gesturing at Kevin. “He lived in West Virginia.”

“I’m sure they have plenty of good barbecue there,” Betsy said in a way that sounded like they, in fact, did not have good barbecue there.

Kevin shrugged. “I prefer Texas barbecue.”

That had the unintended effect of stopping the conversation. They all looked at him in dismay. 

“It’s cattle country.” He poked at the collard greens on his plate. He could probably eat those. “They have better ribs.”

“Fuckin’ Mr. World Traveler here,” Reggie said. “You need to get him some Smokin’ Joe’s, Coach, and change his mind.”

“Fine, fine.” Wymack raised his hands in defeat. “Enough about barbecue. Try appreciating Abby’s cooking for once.”

“Sorry, Abby,” Juan said. “These sweet potatoes are amazing.”

“Not as good as the cornbread dressing,” Reggie said. “Thank you, Abby.”

Kevin ate a few bites. They weren’t wrong. Abby’s cooking was pretty good, if only he had the appetite for it. 

“Reggie’s right, you’ve traveled quite a bit,” Betsy said. “Do you have a favorite city?”

It was a standard canned interview question. He got asked it a lot, and if he wasn’t trying to pander a bit to whatever city he was visiting, his usual answer was Paris because it would get Jean chewing his ear off later about how Marseille was better. Riko liked it because he thought Kevin was being cruel. Jean’s anger was real—so perhaps Riko could be excused for believing that—but Riko had almost no appreciation for subtlety, which meant it was a language Kevin could work in. He didn’t speak it naturally, but he read it well. A ranting Jean was a rallying Jean, and selfish or not, Kevin needed Jean fighting.

But he didn’t want to think about Jean.

“Venice,” he said. They’d done a quick overnight trip after visiting the stadium in Milan. “It’s really as beautiful as the pictures make it out to be. And lots of fascinating history.”

The tour of the Palazza Ducale had interested Kevin for its politics and Riko for its torture chamber, but he didn’t mention that.

He talked about a few other places he’d visited with Betsy before she seemed to notice he was playing with his food instead of eating. She steered the conversation away from him to Juan and Reggie, asking about their semesters.

“I have the best schedule this semester, Bee,” Juan said. “No classes on Friday.”

“That’s a very nice schedule,” Betsy said.

“You know what annoys me?” Reggie asked. “People keep askin’ me what I’m doin’ after graduation. Like I need to worry about that shit yet.”

Kevin didn’t catch how the rest of the conversation went. Internally, he held the same dismayed look they had turned on him during the barbecue discussion. He had always known his future, and now that he didn’t, all he could do was worry. He didn’t know how to keep going. Riko wasn’t there to push his buttons, and he didn’t have exy to drive him. He had nothing to strive for.

He had….

Abby eyeing his plate. 

He shoveled food into his mouth without tasting it and somehow managed to finish not too far behind everyone else. When the conversation died down, Reggie and Juan helped Abby clear the table. They chased Kevin out when he tried to linger. Four people didn’t fit well anyway. Wymack went out for another smoke.

He trailed reluctantly behind Betsy into the den. She stopped in front of the bookshelf and pulled out one of the books he had looked at earlier.

“Are you interested in history too?” he asked.

“No.” She grabbed another book. “They’re out of order.”

Kevin watched her swap them and put them back. “That’s probably my fault.”

“Oh, it’s no one’s fault. I used to drive Abby crazy when we lived together while in school. She’d come back from class and I’d have rearranged all her stuff. I’ve gotten much better since then. This, she won’t mind. Just keep me away from her pantry.”

“Sure.”

“What I learned living with someone was that it requires good communication,” she said. “That’s why I live alone now.”

“That’s….” Another time, he might have appreciated her humor, but he knew better than to let her disarm him so easily, to let her good humor trick him into being comfortable. 

Juan and Reggie returned, saving him from having to come up with a reply. Juan grabbed a first person shooter from the stack they had and setup their gaming console. He turned to Kevin. “You in?”

In the background, Reggie had already loaded the game.

Kevin raised his cast in reply.  

“Oh, right. Sorry, man. Bee?”

“Maybe later.” A man on the screen grunted as a bullet hit him and fell over. “You can teach me how to die like that one.”

“Bee,” Reggie said. “I’m not a professional, but I don’t think that’s how a therapist is supposed to talk.”

“Damn it,” Juan said. “You just got me killed. Couldn’t you wait two seconds?”

Kevin had never been fond of video games, although they were popular for stress relief at the Nest. The loud shooting noises, shouting, and screams set his teeth on edge. Respawning was cheap. It wasn’t death.

They didn’t know anything.

Death was Riko, with far too pleased a smile, saying he’d flay Kevin alive—like the Butcher carving apart the man as he pleaded brokenly in front of them—if Kevin ever thought of disobeying him. Kevin hadn’t just _thought_ it; he’d ran. Here he was and with no way to take it back.

Death was Kevin being unable to stop Riko from feeding on Jean’s pain. It was Riko discovering waterboarding, and Kevin spending the night listening to each of Jean’s horrid and labored breaths—terrified another wouldn’t follow. And that was just the first time.

Death was a whisper, a rumor, the building to a confrontation that ended with a foot crunching down on Kevin’s left hand. He should have seen the writing on the wall, but he’d been under the foolish belief that Riko _needed_ him. They couldn’t get to where they wanted to be alone.

But maybe Riko could. Kevin no longer worried about what the silence out of Evermore meant, or whether the master was going to track him down and drag him back. By now, the master would have found out from Riko or Jean that Kevin had discovered who his father was and where he had fled. The master’s silence was its own message. The court was his domain and he didn’t need Kevin on it—he was never going to play again. He was worthless to him.

Without exy, he was worthless to everyone. Except Riko—and wasn’t that life’s biggest joke?

Betsy watched him, waiting for a reply to something she had said, and he couldn’t do this anymore. 

“Excuse me.” He got up and headed for the bathroom. 

It was second nature to slow down—hearing Abby and Wymack speaking in hushed voices in the kitchen. Snooping was survival at the nest. Sometimes it led to trouble, others a letter. The trick was knowing when to nose around and when to keep one’s head down. 

“It’s like walking on eggshells,” Wymack said. “He’s so fragile.”

“At least he ate his dinner.”

“One full meal this entire week.”

“Give him time.”

“I couldn’t even get him to talk exy this morning.”

“Can you blame him?”

“He won’t talk about anything else.”

They were quiet so long after that, Kevin thought they were done. He shifted, ready to continue on. 

Then Wymack spoke. “He’s very…. It’s hard to believe he’s Kayleigh’s son.”

Abby’s reply was lost under the noise of the video game.

“When the semester starts and you clear Reggie and Juan out, he should stay with you. I can’t reach him.”

_Oh._

Kevin made a strangled noise and bile rose up in his throat. He ran for the bathroom. He managed to shut the door before losing his dinner to the toilet. 

Wymack’s heavy steps followed from down the hall, but he didn’t try to enter. Kevin bitterly wondered why he’d bothered and hadn’t sent Abby down instead.

When he finished, he flushed the toilet. He was slow to leave it, though, partly because he was shaking too much, but also, as it turned out, getting sick was another thing that was a pain to do one-handed. 

He took his time composing himself. Wymack was still waiting for him when he came out of the bathroom. “Are you feeling well?”

“Fine.”

“If you need help…”

Kevin leaned against the wall and wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t do anything. Of course he needed help. 

“Let’s go home,” Wymack said.

Home was the Nest, but Kevin was pretty sure that’s not what Wymack meant. He nodded anyway.

Leaving Abby’s was a bit of a blur with quick goodbyes. She promised to drop leftovers off to them tomorrow as they retreated to the car.

Wymack didn’t waste any time getting them on the road. Kevin leaned his cheek against the cold glass of the window. Outside, the stars hid behind clouds. 

“How much did you overhear?” Wymack finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“If you want to talk—”

“I don’t.”

It was his fault. His traitorous heart never stopped _wanting_.

“I can’t help you—”

“I _know_ ,” Kevin snapped.

“—if you don’t let me.”

Kevin closed his eyes. He tried to think of something, anything that might fill the gaping hole in his chest. “Take me to the court.”

He expected Wymack to argue any number of things—that he couldn’t play, that he might be seen—but he didn’t. They turned. The white walls were hard to miss even in the dark. Kevin felt something loosen inside of him at the sight.  

It wasn’t the court he was used to, but that was probably a good thing. He’d traveled and played on so many, it really didn’t matter. Evermore, if he was being honest, wasn’t even his favorite. 

They parked near gate twenty-four and walked to the entrance. Wymack punched in a keycode at the door and let them both inside. Kevin followed Wymack down a hallway through the Foxes locker room and beyond. 

Wymack flipped a switch, and light punched the shadows deep into the stands. The stadium wasn’t old, but it was worn with lack of upkeep. Everything needed new paint, but Kevin didn’t care. The past week was the longest he’d been off a court in living memory. 

 _This_ felt like home.

Kevin stopped. “I…need to be alone.”

He couldn’t take any more pity. 

Wymack looked at him skeptically but said, “I’ll be in my office.”

Kevin opened the plexiglass door and walked to the garish orange fox paw that waited for him at the center of the court proper. He could imagine the crowd in the stands, the excitement and anticipation, a racquet in his hands, the starting buzzer, and the adrenaline rush. He loved everything about the sport.

Becoming the best had always been the goal, but somewhere along the line it had become his motivation too. Why did he train so hard? To be the best. Why did he sacrifice so much? To be the best. He’d held onto his reasons so tightly he’d forgotten what they looked like. 

It was too simplistic to say that he didn’t want to disappoint his mother. That he wanted to make her proud.

Her death had brought the end of an era. He and Riko had been destined to usher in the next, the sons of exy. Like the home run greats in baseball or the breathtakingly dynamic shooters in basketball, their skill was supposed to bring in a new wave of interest to exy. The master often spoke of dethroning football as America’s most popular sport.

But Kevin didn’t play for that future; he was fighting for the past. Because with every amazing play, every goal, there was a chance the sportscasters would say: Kevin Day, _Kayleigh Day’s_ son.

He didn’t want anyone to forget his mother’s legacy under the growing weight of the master’s accomplishments. The world would remember her, even if he couldn’t. 

He sank to the floor. 

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do._

He had only himself to blame. He’d let Andrew’s accusation— _you've built an entire career around being second best_ —goad him into believing he could be the greatest, as long as he was the only one who knew. Foolish pride, it didn’t work that way. The master saw it, and then Riko knew.

Tears—years’ worth, stored and pent-up—fell warm on his cheek, but he didn’t try to brush them off. He looked up at the blurry stands and then the rafters.

_I don’t know what to do, mom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely hate ending a chapter like this. I'm really sorry, but it was the best point to break it.
> 
> As a side note, I chose to have Riko know about Kevin's father because it maximizes Kevin's angst. The knowledge would have caused Riko to tighten Kevin's leash when they found out. If this were a Jean-centric fic, I would have Riko not know in order to maximize Jean's angst when Kevin fled. He'd have to be the one to tell everyone Kevin's secret and where he had probably fled, which just adds to things being really bad for him. In case anyone was curious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget Kevin. I'm just the world's slowest writer.
> 
> A special thanks to aisuhell for the beta.

Evermore had almost destroyed Kevin. 

Late in the night after they’d returned from the court, he contemplated the wreckage of his life. Somewhere pinned inside the debris, his heart waited bruised and torn—dashed on a child’s hope and broken dreams—and despite everything, foolishly ready to sprint full speed ahead toward its next desire. It always ran straight for the goal, never stopping to catch its breath, until it crashed against the next obstacle. Predictable, and how many times had that been used against him?

His future was uncertain now, but it would include exy—of course it would—and why had that ever been in doubt? He might not be able to play, but he still loved the sport. His mother had given him that, and he wasn’t letting go. He had as much of a claim to it as Riko or the master. He’d show them. He’d show everyone. They had taken almost everything from him at Evermore, but he would make sure that love survived.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he did know the one thing he couldn’t do.

***

On Monday, Kevin asked Wymack if he had any tape of the Foxes to analyze. It was mid-afternoon—he’d slept for twelve hours—which had probably done nothing to convince Wymack that he wasn’t one stray look away from shattering, but he’d cleaned up. 

“You don’t have to,” Wymack said.

 Kevin shrugged. “I either watch the Foxes or whatever team is on the television.”

Wymack found him some tape, and several hours later, Kevin returned to his office with notes. 

He huddled next to Wymack and broke down inefficiencies in some of the Foxes plays, issues that some of the players needed to address, and weaknesses in the other team that the Foxes should have exploited. He’d scribbled some of it in Japanese—force of habit—and had to cross it out, translating on the side. 

“How many up-tempo drills do you practice?” Kevin asked.

“We have a few as part of our routine.”

Kevin tapped his pen against the notepad and then stopped himself before Riko could….

Do nothing. He wasn’t there. Kevin let out a breath and went back to tapping his pen. “The problem is keeping the offense fresh during the game. You don’t have enough players to rotate in and maintain it, but the athletic build of your team is definitely better suited for speed over muscle. The couple of times you switched seemed to really work for you. If you could change up the plays more, you’d be less predictable to defenses.”

“We could add a few more. Do you have any in mind?”

“Yeah.” 

Kevin diagrammed a few. Wymack suggested a couple of variations. They went back and forth on it before getting into a deep discussion on defense.

It was the most fun he’d had discussing exy since the afternoon he’d spent debating strategy with Jeremy Knox. 

He and Riko came from the same school of thought and rarely needed to spare a word on it at all. Exy was the one thing they could reach perfect agreement on without Kevin having to give ground. 

When it came to addressing individual Ravens, Kevin had always spoken his mind. Sometimes the master would ask his opinion on talent, but never on anything else. Why would he?

Wymack had to call it a night, but Kevin stayed awake and watched another game.

The Foxes were horrible—they really were—but if he was being generous, they weren’t completely hopeless.

***

On Tuesday, Kevin asked Wymack if he would pick up some groceries at the store for him. 

Wymack took Kevin’s list and looked it over. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave some vegetables for the rest of mankind?”

Kevin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “If it’s too much—”

“It’s not.” But Wymack scrunched his nose at a couple of items on the list.

Comfort food had a different meaning for Kevin than it did in the south. He couldn’t get his photographs back, or his books, and there was a lot about the Nest he was glad to leave behind, but returning to his healthy diet was something _safe_ and _his_.

Later that afternoon, Wymack’s fridge was stocked with fruits and vegetables.

And Kevin started eating again.

***

On Wednesday, Kevin asked if he could use the building’s gym.

To his surprise, Wymack joined him. 

The plan had been to walk on a treadmill, but the gym had a couple of ellipticals, which worked out better since he could set a faster pace once he learned how to move comfortably one-handed.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Wymack said from the elliptical next to him. “Doesn’t seem to be giving you as much trouble lately. Feeling any pain?”

“Not too bad.” Which was a good thing because the pain killers had given him weird dreams.

“When I shattered my hip, it took a while to recover. The only positive in the whole experience was that I met Abby and convinced her to join the team.”

Kevin assumed there was something going on between them, but he didn’t pry. “What was the hardest part?”

“Not pushing myself beyond my limits. The simplest things wore me out. Your hand should be easier, but you’ll want to take care of it. Do your physical therapy.”

“Of course.”

“It’s probably going to hurt like hell when the weather changes. That’s normal.”

“Great.”

“Don’t think about a comeback.” Wymack held up a hand to stop Kevin’s protest and almost lost his rhythm on the elliptical. “It’s going to be frustrating when the simplest tasks seem impossible. Don’t dwell on what you used to be able to do. Think about moving forward.”

It sounded a bit like shaking off a bad play, focusing on what needed to be done instead of what had happened, which was easier to do when he was actually on the court. “I’ll try.”

His future had been—and still was—such a cloud of fear that he’d almost forgotten the cast wasn’t permanent. For the first time, he contemplated what he would realistically be facing once it was removed.

***

On Thursday, Kevin asked to use Wymack’s computer. 

After finding nothing new out of Evermore, he searched for broken hands and read through a bunch of posts.

_You can expect some soreness for a while…._

_I broke mine, and then broke it again three months later…._

_The bone healed fine, but the scar tissue caused me to lose quite a bit of my grip…._

Each post had similar stories behind the break: cycling, MMA, freak accident. Those were the most common. None of the others had been caused by someone repeatedly stomping on the hand, but broken bones were broken bones, right? They all healed eventually. 

_I had nerve damage—_

Kevin closed the browser.

That was enough research for one day.

He had another appointment with the hand surgeon in a little over a week to make sure it was healing properly. The surgeon had been cautious, believing it best to wait and see. 

Kevin sighed. Everyone seemed to agree on one thing: time.

Even in the best case, he wasn’t going to be playing exy at full strength for a while, probably over a year. That was an eternity in his college career. When he did return, he’d be labeled an injury risk. Professional teams would be taking note and deciding if they wanted to take a chance on him. Who knew if Court ever would. That’s if everything went well. 

He wasn’t going to get where he wanted to be this way.

At least, not with his left hand….

***

On Friday, Kevin didn’t ask Wymack any questions, but Wymack had one for him.

Or it would have been, if the words were modified slightly. “I want you to be my assistant coach, off the books for now, but I want to keep you here.”

Kevin left his notepad on the floor and straightened from his crouch in front of the television. He’d been watching right-handed players all morning as if he’d never seen one before in his life but was about to switch over to more tape of the Foxes.

He tried not to dwell too close on the _I want to keep you here_. Wymack didn’t understand what he was offering.

“That would be nice,” Kevin said, “but I’m still contractually obligated to Edgar Allen.”

“You let me worry about that.”

Kevin swallowed hard. He didn’t know how to explain all of the ways this could go wrong, but he was probably going to have to figure that out. “I need to speak with Andrew first.”

Wymack squinted in surprise. “What does that psychopath have to do with you staying?”

“There are things you need to know about me, and I don’t want to explain them twice.”

“It won’t change my offer.”

Kevin stared at him, willing himself to say something, but the words wouldn’t string themselves together. Just once, Kevin wanted to do what was right, but a confession would change everything. This was the danger in showing a starving man a feast.

Wymack put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll talk to Andrew, then.”

And he left the room.

Kevin closed his eyes. He wondered if this was the feeling Riko chased when he tried to win his own father’s acceptance. In the end, was he really so different? The shovel was in his hand, and he kept digging his own grave. Yet, he was foolish enough to believe he might find treasure if he just kept going. 

He really did have a traitorous heart.

***

The cousins returned to Fox Tower right after New Year’s. Kevin didn’t want to risk discovering how Andrew would respond to a summons, so he convinced Wymack to bring him there.

After several minutes, Andrew answered Wymack’s persistent knock with a smile. 

Then he spotted Kevin and his gaze sharpened. “Take your religion elsewhere. I’m not interested.” 

And he immediately tried to slam the door.

Wymack shoved himself in the way and looked at Kevin as if to ask, _are you sure about this?_

“Hear me out,” Kevin said. “I want to stay, but I need your help.”

Andrew’s smile widened. “You need _my_ help?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You must be desperate.”

The dorm was fairly empty. Most students were due to arrive back tomorrow, but…. “This isn’t a hallway conversation.”

Andrew didn’t open the door farther to let them inside. Instead, he slipped out and led them down to one of the dorm studies. Kevin had never been in a normal one before, but it had everything he might have expected, if he’d ever thought about it: unflattering fluorescent lights that flickered for a second when Andrew flipped the switch, desks etched with anonymous confessions, and walls painted in interrogation room white. 

For the first time since arriving in South Carolina, Kevin missed the darkness of the Nest.

It took all of his years of media training and shoving his right hand in his pocket not to fidget. Andrew and Wymack seemed to prefer standing. Sitting would have made Kevin feel less exposed, but he wasn’t going to let anyone tower over him during this conversation. 

“Wymack offered me an unofficial position, and I want to take it,” Kevin said. “I can make it worth your while if you help me stay.”

“Help you stay? How?” Andrew asked. “You want me to hold your leash? Stop you from running off?”

“Andrew.” Wymack’s voice held a warning.

Kevin balled his hand into a fist. It wasn’t that far from the truth. “You’d get something out of it.”

“You only have one currency, and I’ve already told you no.”

True, but Kevin thought he’d found a way to exchange it into something Andrew _might_ want. “You can’t keep self-destructing. Your meds aren’t going to prop you up forever. When they’re gone, I can give you something to build your life around.”

Andrew blinked and then tilted his head. “What a strange offer.”

“Think about it. I can help you get to where you need to be. By the time you graduate, every professional scout will be paying attention. A once-in-a-lifetime goalkeeping talent like you? You’re looking at an early first round draft pick with teams fighting to get that spot—and that’s if you don’t get invited by one sooner.” 

“Like you.” There was an underlying sneer in his response that prickled Kevin’s anger.

That was something to be proud of. If the sport kept growing, in a few years the talent gap would fill. It was a distinction few would be able to claim. Kevin didn’t have much, but he did have his reputation and his name. “The Foxes are already turning heads after qualifying for the spring championships. My involvement will add a certain legitimacy to your accomplishments.”

“I see you didn’t leave your arrogance behind when you ran, after all.”

Kevin gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “You have the talent to get what you want. Don’t waste it.”

 Andrew faked an exaggerated yawn.

“So you pretend, but I _know_ there are things that interest you.” Exy would eventually. Once Andrew invested himself, he’d see, but Kevin needed a different carrot to dangle until then. He wasn’t the Andrew Minyard expert he’d thought, but he did know a thing or two about him. “You like expensive cars? The manufacturers will be fighting to _give_ them to you. Get into another scrape with the law? You’ll have lawyers at your beck and call that would never settle on an agreement that involved court-ordered medication. You will have all of the power that comes with money. Do with it what you want.”

“You always have the same solution for everything,” Andrew said. “Exy, exy, exy.”

“I’m not wrong,” Kevin said. “You have the potential.”

“So you’ve said. Tell me the part I haven’t heard before. Quit stalling.”

A part of Kevin hadn’t actually expected to get this far with Andrew still in the room. It was like wearing down the opponent’s defense in the first half, knowing it’d be easier to score more goals in the second, but being unsure it would be enough for the master.

Kevin took his hand out of his pocket but hooked his thumb inside to stop it from wandering too far. He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “The Moriyamas could be a problem if I stay.”

“I’m not afraid of some rich bullies,” Wymack said.

“They’re more than that,” Kevin said. 

“Aliens?” Andrew asked.

“No.”

“Vampires?”

“Stop it.”

“Mafia?”

Kevin hesitated.

Andrew laughed. “Are you telling me Coach Moriyama is a mob boss?”

Kevin’s annoyance allowed the words to slip out easier than they otherwise might have. “No, his brother is.”

“That still makes them rich bullies,” Wymack said.

Riko was more than a bully. “The family is split into two. The first born sons are in the main family and everyone else is in the branch. Kengo rules his criminal empire under the guise of an international trading company, and Coach Moriyama controls Evermore. For the most part, the two sides don’t mix—they’re estranged—except when Kengo uses the Ravens games as a cover for meetings.”

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. Andrew had stopped laughing, but his smile remained amused. Wymack’s reaction was harder to read. He leaned against the wall with a hand to his mouth in thought. 

“Kengo and Ichirou won’t interfere unless given a reason to. They mostly stick to their business in New York,” Kevin said. “If Coach Moriyama wanted me to return, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Wymack straightened. “You are _not_ going back there.”

Kevin pressed his lips together. In reality, he was still owned, but it wasn’t worth arguing over.

He picked at the padding on his cast. 

Maybe he didn’t need to say anything else. The mafia threat conveyed the danger in keeping him here. He didn’t need to get into the specifics of his situation. The cast said enough. 

He prodded at it, pushing the padding against the hard edge. 

“And Riko?” Andrew asked.

“Riko,” Kevin said and faltered. 

“The reason you need my help?”

There was no getting around it then. Kevin stopped messing with his cast. He took a deep breath and looked away from them both. “When I arrived at Evermore after my mother’s death, the—“ He caught himself before he said ‘the master’ in front of Andrew again. “—Coach Moriyama handed me to Riko, and he kept me as his pet. I was a thing to him, and he expected perfect obedience from me. The tattoo I wear is to remind me of my place.”

Kevin kept his gaze on the tiled floor, not wanting to see their silent judgment. 

“Riko needed me—until he didn’t,” he said. “We were partners in survival under Coach Moriyama. My failure was his failure, so there were lines he would not cross. Then the ERC became convinced Riko was holding me back, and they wanted to know if it was Coach Moriyama’s doing.” Their certainty had doomed him. “Coach Moriyama pitted us against each other to settle the matter.”

Kevin wrapped his hand around the cast and held it tighter to his body.

“Riko won, but….” The master had pulled Riko aside after, and from all appearances, the conversation had not gone well. Riko needed his dream more than he needed Kevin. As long as Riko and Kevin were paired—even if Riko was number one—the world would know Riko hadn’t gotten there without him. “Riko didn’t care for the result.”

Andrew laughed. “He’s going to hate that you ran even more.”

“All he has to do is tell me to return. I don’t know how to tell him no. I need someone who will. I need a handler. I’m not used to being alone. I don’t like it, and if he catches me like that….” Kevin looked Andrew in the eyes. “Don’t let him take me away.” 

Andrew rocked back on his feet, his smile faltered for a second, three seasons went by, and then he laughed. “You never learn.”

“I’m trying.”

Andrew turned away in cheery disgust. “Get out.”

“I…”

“Leave.” There was a hard edge to his tone under the manic delight.

Kevin looked to the door then back at Andrew. He’d thought….

He’d been so close. The desperate side of him wanted to argue, but if Andrew wouldn’t commit to it without pressure, Kevin couldn’t expect him to stay by his side when Riko came for him. 

He stalked out of the room. He’d have to find another way. Riko would have no reason to hold back if he returned. Without his talent to protect him, Kevin would be treated worse than Jean. He didn’t think he could survive that. He wasn’t strong like Jean.

Wymack said something to Andrew, but Kevin didn’t catch what. It wasn’t important.

“I meant it,” Wymack said, after catching up to him. “You aren’t going back there.”

Kevin couldn’t quite find it in himself to believe that, but he used Wymack’s conviction to postpone his despair. 

***

The third time Andrew broke into Wymack’s apartment, Kevin was digging through the fridge for the pre-cut vegetables Abby had prepared. Kale, carrots, and other vegetables in stacked containers filled the shelves. She’d even portioned out servings of greek yogurt so all he had to do was dump it in the blender. It was a kindness she’d done for _him_ , not Kayleigh Day’s son, and he wanted to hoard the feeling. 

Kevin heard the door and figured Wymack must have forgotten something on his way out. When he straightened, Andrew stood at the entrance to the kitchen, looking more serious than Kevin had ever seen him.

“I’ll do it,” Andrew said. “I’ll protect you from the Moriyamas.”

“That’s not—”

“Those aren’t the words you used, but that’s what you asked for. I will stand between you and them. No one will hurt you. You will not go back. Riko can’t have you. That is what I promise in exchange for what you offered.”

Kevin slumped against the closed fridge and breathed for the first time since leaving Evermore. “Okay.”

It was more than he’d hoped for, and good thing, because he hadn’t come up with another plan. He hadn’t known where to begin after being so certain he’d found the one thing Andrew might want. 

His gut had been right. He _had_ hooked Andrew, but it hadn’t been enough at the moment.

Why?

Andrew watched him like he expected something.

Kevin felt like he should say more, express his appreciation, but he _refused_ to say thank you. The thought made him suddenly angry. If Andrew was going to accept the deal, he could have done it yesterday instead of making Kevin worry. Had he enjoyed knowing Kevin was tossing and turning and unable to sleep? Had he thought it funny?

Kevin took the vegetables to the blender and dumped them in. He slammed the lid back on, punching the blend button. 

The blender ran twice as long as necessary. Kevin jammed the button to stop it and dumped the contents into his glass. He was going to have to say it. He needed Andrew. He was tired of—

“Do not think for one second our agreement means that you will _ever_ get me to drink that shit,” Andrew said. 

Kevin stared at him uncomprehending. That wasn’t the next line in the script.

It was a very Riko thing to do—deny, deny, deny, and then grant the request while expecting gratitude. But Andrew wasn’t Riko. Kevin knew that.

He moved the dirty parts of the blender into the sink for Wymack to clean later. The faucet was dripping, and he knocked the handle to stop it. When most of his anger had faded, he turned back around.

He took a long drink of the smoothie. “It tastes as bad as it looks.” 

He didn’t bother hiding his smirk at Andrew’s resulting disgust. It had taken him years to get used to them. He’d hated it, but like everything else at the time, he hadn’t had a choice in the matter.

Kevin leaned against the counter. “What changed your mind?” 

“I didn’t say no,” Andrew said. 

He hadn’t, but _get out_ and _leave_ didn’t suggest _yes_ , either. What had changed, Kevin noted, was that Andrew appeared to have skipped a dose of his meds before coming here. That seemed significant given the consequences. It was logical that Andrew would want to make the decision in a more grounded state.

“And maybe I want to see you fail,” Andrew said.

“If that’s the case—”

Andrew put up a hand to stop him. “Not against the Moriyamas.”

He didn’t expect Kevin to uphold his end of the deal. Kevin was tempted to be insulted, but from his experience trying to recruit Andrew, he knew Andrew didn’t like it when others believed in him. Andrew liked to keep the expectations on him low, and what had Kevin done? Gone and told him not just that Andrew could be the best goalkeeper in the game, but that he also believed Andrew could take on a monster like Riko. It was a miracle that Andrew was agreeing to the deal, but it was also a tell. Andrew _wanted_ it on some level.

“I won’t fail,” Kevin said.

“I guess we’ll see.” Andrew gestured at the glass. “Finish that. I have two hours until I have to take my next dose. We’re going for a drive.”

“I can’t be seen.”

“Then cover that tattoo and stay in the car when I go get your phone.”

“Phone?”

“Good to know the hearing problem is still an issue,” Andrew said. “Now finish. You’re wasting my time.”

Kevin drank the last of his smoothie and put the glass in the sink. He went to Wymack’s bathroom to look for a Band-Aid or something to hide the tattoo. His fingers shook as he opened the medicine cabinet and searched the drawers.

This was really happening. He planned to stay. It was insane, the most selfish thing he’d ever done, but what did it matter? He was already damned.

_Don’t think of Jean._

_Don’t think of Jean._

_Don’t think of Jean._

But that was impossible because he never for a moment forgot him.

Kevin filtered every action he made through a two part equation: how will Riko react and what impact will it have on Jean. Riko didn’t need a reason for what he did to Jean, but he jumped on every single one he found, collecting all of Kevin’s transgressions and meting out retribution, although none had been as ill-fated and devastating as Kevin’s frail attempt at friendship. 

Until now.

Kevin wasn’t sure he could do this. 

Andrew came into the bathroom, saw Kevin frozen in place, and huffed his annoyance. “You’re hopeless.”

“I can’t….” 

“Did they not teach you what Band-Aids looked like in the Nest?” 

Kevin choked on his hysteria. “A little too well.”

Andrew shoved him out of the way and found a box in the first aid kit in the bottom drawer. He pulled Kevin down by his shoulder. 

“I have to do everything myself.” Andrew stuck the bandage on Kevin’s cheek and took a step back, admiring his act of blasphemy. “There, let’s go.”

Kevin looked at his covered tattoo in the mirror. 

Traitor, traitor, traitor.

Maybe someday he could be someone better, but he wasn’t—and never would be—enough to save Jean.

He turned away and followed Andrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nora's whole NCAA exy system is messed up. And it's canon that Kevin was also on a pro team, so.....what can you do?


End file.
